


A Bright Spot

by stereolightning (phalaenopsis)



Series: The R/T Fics [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 19:30:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1522883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalaenopsis/pseuds/stereolightning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joking, even when the future is uncertain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bright Spot

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the rt_morelove Springfest, for the prompt "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, 93 Diagon Alley" but also inspired somewhat by a second prompt, "The day and/or place Tonks finds out she's pregnant."

The joke shop at number 93 had not closed its doors, although Tonks doubted whether it could remain open much longer in the present climate. She spent half an hour wandering through the half-empty labyrinth of whistling wigs and tarantella tarantulas, searching for a birthday present for Harry. Something to lighten the mood, maybe. Circe knew he could use a bit of cheer before – well, before whatever was coming next. She didn't, strictly speaking, know what that was. He hadn't told anybody, not even Professor McGonagall (Tonks still couldn't wrap her mind around calling the venerable woman “Minerva,” even if Remus could).

Tonks meandered into a section she'd never seen before, not really paying attention to where she was going. Her mind was elsewhere. Somewhere deep in her subconscious, Moody growled the words _constant vigilanc_ e. But she couldn't hear him over the thrum of her own thoughts, which were chiefly to do with her wedding, six days ago, on a sweaty afternoon, which turned into an unexpectedly brisk evening in Scotland at a village tavern, and a swift ceremony, with three affable, middle-aged witches as witnesses. Sometimes she had trouble believing Remus had gone through with it at all, although he really had looked madly happy, all tucked up in the blankets with her afterward, blinking lazily at the ceiling with those light brown eyelashes, whispering _Dora, Dora, Dora_.

Then a sweet, tangy smell brought her out of her reverie. The source turned out to be brightly colored bubbles, small and iridescent like soap bubbles, hovering at eye level, that you could pop with your tongue, and which tasted of strawberry and banana and lime. She ate three and laughed. She remembered Dad doing a spell like this for her when she was a little girl, only these seemed to last a lot longer.

On the floor, miniature, pastel-colored Hogwarts Express cars chugged along, like wind-up toys, only without the key on the back, powered by magic. She looked at the sign floating in midair over the aisle - Wheezes for Wee Wizards. 

A familiar, grinning, freckly face appeared at the mouth of the aisle.

“Hello, Fred,” she said. She gestured at the merchandise. "When did you start doing these?"

He shrugged. "Thought of it at some Weasley family function or other. Abundance of cousins, you know. And it's a niche nobody else has cornered yet. We figured - why not? You like them?"

“They're very sweet,” said Tonks, nodding.

She rifled through the shelves absently, and Fred leaned against the aisle, perfectly at his ease despite all that had happened. She liked that. She liked having his generous, red-headed personage in her peripheral vision. A damn sight nicer than Dolores Umbridge's, that was.

Well, Harry was way too old for any of this stuff, she thought. What did seventeen-year-old boys named in prophecies as the savior of wizardkind want or need on their birthday, again? Not like you could shake a joke wand at Voldemort, and make a bunch of flowers appear out the end, and make the bald bastard giggle himself to death.

Remus appeared at the other end of the aisle, sweating slightly from the July heat. He swept a stray lock of greying hair off of his forehead. 

"There you are. Did you find the book you wanted?" she asked.

He nodded, hands still gripped around his parcel from Flourish & Blott's. His expression faded from cheerful to studiously blank. 

She realized what this looked like - she was standing in an aisle of pale pink and baby blue, holding a chubby toy frog that was still croaking the alphabet and trying to wriggle out of her hand. Remus must think he was depriving her of something she wanted. Babies. Well, she wasn't so sure she would ever want babies, and she'd known this would be a stumbling block with him, and she didn't care if that never happened, he was enough, and anyway they'd been diligent about contraception. 

Well, except for the one time.

"Thanks for helping with that bit of market research, Tonks," said Fred, helpfully. "I think chamber music is a rather boring choice for these moppet music boxes. We'll charm them to play something cooler."

Thank Merlin for Weasley twin joviality. It broke the tension like a sun burning through fog.

“You're welcome,” she said, setting the frog on the carpet. It lurched away, ribbiting indignantly, and Fred followed it. “Shall we keep looking for Harry's present together?”

Remus nodded again. His gaze flicked to the sign above their heads and then shifted to meet hers. Tonks closed the distance between them, and he slipped his dry hand into hers, and squeezed softly, like a question, or a tentative apology for something he hadn't even done.

“S'alright,” she whispered into his ear. “I know. It's alright.”

And on they walked, past a display of vanishing gold, and he kissed the side of her face reverently, as if she had pardoned him for an unforgivable sin.

“You want to get an ice cream, then?” she asked.

“Florean isn't there anymore,” he said.

“Oh. Right. Well. I don't know that I'm really that hungry, now I think about it. I could maybe do with a Boring Sandwich, though.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “You're asking for a Boring Sandwich? I thought the whole point of calling them that was you making fun of me. What was it you kept saying?”

“A pickle short of a ploughman's lunch. Boring Sandwich. Yes. But I want one. Come on, we'll find Harry's present another day.”

“This is supposed to be the honeymoon, you know. You're supposed to have champagne and caviar.”

“Nah. Sounds awful. I just want to eat whatever you feel like making me.”

He shook his head, smiling, even more amused. “It is rather incongruous, that a woman with fuchsia hair has a taste for brown bread and old men.”

She nudged him in the shoulder. “Oh, shut up. Here, have a headless hat.”

She picked one up from a nearby table. He sniggered and dodged as she tried to put the silk top hat on his head.

For a few minutes, in spite of everything, the world was color and laughter and jokes.


End file.
